


Kiss Me

by benedictedcumberbatched



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drug Abuse, F/M, Fluff, Marriage, Songfic, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 10:24:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1507097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benedictedcumberbatched/pseuds/benedictedcumberbatched
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock had known her before but he couldn't remember how. A songfic chronicling two sides of Sherlock and Molly's relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss Me

**Author's Note:**

> As always, nothing belongs to me. 
> 
> The song "Kiss Me" is by Sixpence None the Richer.

\--

_Kiss me, out of the bearded barley_   
_Lightly, beside the green, green grass_   
_Swing, swing, swing the spinning step_   
_I’ll wear those shoes and you will wear that dress_

_—_

Molly clutched tightly to Sherlock’s hand as he pulled her out into the field. “What are we doing?” she asked, stumbling slightly, her glasses slipping down her nose. She straightened and pushed the frames back as she raised her head to look at the tall boy. Sherlock grinned down at her pleased she had worn the bright yellow sundress that day. He would never really say it but it was his favorites of hers. He didn’t know why she didn’t wear dresses more often, they showed off her slim frame more than those bulky, hand knit jumpers ever would, but that was sentiment. Myc had warned him of sentiment and after Redbeard, Sherlock had listened to him.

But then he had met Molly at University in the Chemistry lab. At first he had thought her simple, quiet, and frankly an idiot like everyone else who came into the labs. While she was quiet, he had watched her from across the room and realized just how wrong his snap judgment had been. She wasn’t simple; there was a complexity to her that intrigued Sherlock. She held a quiet strength that he saw come out on occasion when someone else thought she didn’t know what she was doing. Slowly but surely he had made his way across the lab, week after week, until he was settled beside her.

“Come on, Molls,” he said, giving her slim hand another tug to take them further into the field. Classes had ended for the summer, giving him the chance to really get to know the girl he had made an effort to know. He knew she lived with her father, knew she wanted to be a pathologist some day, but aside from the basics, he didn’t make an effort to try and analyze her. It felt wrong to do so.

Moving further into the field, Sherlock stopped suddenly, Molly bumping into him at the sudden stop. His arms wrapped around her to hold her upright and he smiled. Even though her feet were back under her, he didn’t let go. Instead, he moved his hand up and cradled her cheek. He bowed his head slightly, and kissed her, feeling the tension at not knowing what the unusual boy had been up to, ease out of her.

—

_Oh, kiss me beneath the milky twilight_   
_Lead me out on the moonlit floor_   
_Lift your open hand_   
_Strike up the band and make the fireflies_   
_Dance silver moon’s sparkling, so kiss me_

—

“So wife, whatever shall I do with you?” his voice smooth as he pulled her closer. Molly rolled her eyes. Any closer and she would be standing on his feet while they danced.

“Nothing here while we’re surrounded by your family and our friends. Save it for later,” she replied gently patting his chest.

This wedding, thankfully, had turned out much different from John and Mary’s. John’s best man speech had been a quarter of the length of Sherlock’s, but still filled with as many funny stories (although they had intentionally avoided another stag night like the last one), and thankfully no murderers being caught.

“I’ve always led the belief that beauty is a social construct, but you truly are beautiful tonight, Mrs. Holmes.”

“Oh, just tonight?”

Sherlock pulled back slightly, looking down at his new wife in surprise. How had that been not good? He had learned early on what the right and wrong things were to say to her. “I-I mean you’re always beautiful but that dress makes you even more radiant…” he stammered.

Molly smiled, pulled him back toward her and kissed at the corner of his mouth. “I was only messing but thank you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock suddenly swung her around before tipping her backwards. He held her up and leaned down over her, his hair falling forward slightly. He smiled down at her before kissing her deeply.

—

_Kiss me down by the broken tree house_   
_Swing me upon its hanging tire_   
_Bring, bring, bring your flowered hat_   
_We’ll take the trail marked on your father’s map_

_—_

“It’s just a little further,” she called out, holding the crudely drawn map before her. She hadn’t been there in years, not since she was a little girl and not since her mum had died when she was ten. But it was something she wanted to show him, a little piece of her. It was her sanctuary. Taking off the hat with a huge flower stitched to it, she looked back over her shoulder at him. He didn’t seem happy today. She had thought she had broken through the tough exterior he had built up, an exterior she didn’t fully understand but had cracked enough to see who Sherlock Holmes really was, but it seemed like it was being pieced back together as of late.

He had stopped showing up for chemistry most days, had stopped spending hours in the lab doing random experiments that sent other students running in fear of being on the receiving end of one of his moods, had stopped taking her to lunch. Each time she saw him though he seemed more withdrawn. He also didn’t look right but she wasn’t entirely sure if it was just lack of sleep, lack of food, something else, or a combination of anything.

Molly waited until he had slowly caught up with her before taking his hand with a smile and tugged him around the last corner. Age and the elements had not been kind to her tree house. Pieces of the railing were missing, the sheet metal roof was rusted through in places, but the tire swing was still intact, despite the tree growing around the rope holding it in place. “I used to come here a lot as a kid. My dad had made the map as a reminder, but I always knew where to go. When mum died, I stopped coming here, I just couldn’t anymore. Dad needed me,” she said, looking up at him but frowned at the dead look in his eyes.

“Sherlock…what’s going on?” she asked, tugging a bit on his hand.

He looked down at her and gave her a lackluster smile. “Nothing. I’m fine,” he replied shortly, leaning down and kissing her cheek. She looked at him for a moment before moving to the tire swing and sat upon it. Using her toes, she kicked at the ground until she got moving. Sherlock watched her for a moment before coming up behind her and pushing her gently. She smiled serenely to herself as she closed her eyes.

The air rushed over her face and through her hair as she tilted her head back. She stopped suddenly and grabbed the rope in surprise. She opened her eyes and was looking up into the slightly smiling face of Sherlock. He leaned down and kissed her. She raised a hand and tangled it in hair at the back of his head holding him in place. She could feel him shuddering and didn’t know or understand why. She pulled away and looked at him concerned. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked, searching his eyes for anything that might give him away.

He released her and stepped away, ruffling his hair. She noticed he was scratching at the crook of his arm and felt a bit of dread come over her. He wasn’t…

Molly slipped off the swing and over to Sherlock who was pacing. She reached out and grabbed his wrist. She swallowed hard before sliding up the sleeve of his shirt and felt her stomach drop. She released his wrist as if it had burned her. “How could you do this…” she whispered, trying to keep her tears at bay. It explained so much. It explained why he had stopped coming to classes, it had explained why he was withdrawn, it explained everything.

“You don’t know what it’s like in my brain. The constant rushing of information about people,” he said, spitting out the word people like it was poison. “I can’t help it. I can’t stop it. It…it helps slow my thoughts enough to function,” he said erratically.

Molly’s hands worked nervously at the edge her hat before she jammed it on her head. “I love you, Sherlock, but not like this. Not like this.” She turned and walked back to her father’s house, her hand over her mouth as she tried to stifle the sob that was choking her.

—

_Oh, kiss me beneath the milky twilight_   
_Lead me out on the moonlit floor_   
_Lift your open hand_   
_Strike up the band and make the fireflies_   
_Dance silver moon’s sparkling, so kiss me_

—

Sherlock’s hand wrapped around Molly’s as she pressed the knife into the bottom layer of their cake. Applause broke out before one of the staff stepped forward to begin disseminating the cake to guests. Molly took the plate in her hand and gingerly using the other, lifted the piece of cake for Sherlock. He looked at her like she was out of her mind. She just smiled and continued to hold the cake out to him. Rolling his eyes, he took a step toward her, gripped her wrist and carefully made to take a bite.

Molly flexed her fingers and shoved as much as she could, smearing the cake across Sherlock’s mouth and nose. She jumped back as he released her wrist so as to keep her shimmery white gown clean. Sherlock’s eyes were wide as he stared at the giggling figure of his new wife. He lunged toward her, grabbing her hand and pulled her to him. He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her fast against him. He normally was uncomfortable with public displays of affection, but he had been getting more used to it the longer he was with Molly.

He crushed his lips to hers, smearing the cake across her face in return. He could hear the laughter of their guests around them, but it was a good laughter. He pulled back and looked at his cake-covered wife. She reached up, wiped the cake off his upper lip, before sticking her finger in her mouth and cleaned off the cake.

—

_Kiss me beneath the milky twilight_   
_Lead me out on the moonlit floor_   
_Lift your open hand_   
_Strike up the band and make the fireflies_   
_Dance silver moon’s sparkling, so kiss me_

—

Sherlock had walked slowly back toward Molly’s father’s house after she had run off. He had left the sleeve of his shirt rolled up and his free hand traced over the marks in the crook of his elbow. He had figured she would react in such a way. But he hadn’t anticipated her discovering his secret so soon.

He figured it was over, that they were done. She had said as much, despite her claim to love him. What was love anyway? Love was for the weak, for those who needed someone to build up the esteem needed to enjoy someone else’s company. Did Sherlock love Molly?

Rolling down his sleeve, he clasped his hands behind him as he walked and began to systematically work his way through the mind technique he had taught himself and remove her from his memory.

—

_So kiss me_   
_So kiss me_   
_So kiss me_   
_So kiss me_

—

Molly could remember the first time she had seen him again. He hadn’t changed much, but was clearly still in a bad place. He had looked right through her as he bent over the corpse while a then younger Lestrade stood off to the side looking annoyed with himself more than anything. Molly hadn’t expected to see Sherlock again after that day in the woods. But clearly fate had a different plan for her than she would have liked. She felt a shiver run down her spine as he looked her over quickly before snapping his gaze to Lestrade and began his rapid fire analysis of what she had already determined, but there was more to it.

She waited to see if he noticed her, urging him to have some flash of recognition behind those brilliant but seemingly dead eyes. But none came.

She didn’t see him again for six months.

The next time Molly saw him, he looked just like he did all those years ago. His hair was finally clean, he was dressed in what was surely an expensive suit, a vast improvement from the grubby jacket and dirty sweatpants she had seen him in before, and a long coat that made him seem very intimidating. She opened her mouth to greet him but he had cut across her.

“Molly Hooper, correct?” he said without looking up from his mobile.

“Y-yes…” she stammered, cursing herself for stuttering.

“I need to see the body of Jacob Martindale,” he demanded, finishing off a text before shoving his phone in his long coat and looking up at her expectantly.

“R-r-right. Of course…” she muttered, turning her back and trying to ignore the heat rising in her cheeks.

Sherlock watched her movements carefully, trying to deduce something about the young pathologist. There was something familiar about her but he couldn’t place it.

“Have we met before?” he asked as she pulled the body from the correct drawer and stepped back.

Her eyes flew up to his wide before dropping back to her tangled hands. “Oh…um…we met six months ago when you came in with Lestrade.”

He looked at her curiously for a second longer before looking at the body of Jacob Martindale.

Molly was putting the final stitches into the body of an elderly woman when the doors to the morgue flew open. At this point she was very used to it, despite his absence for the past two years. He had been coming by more frequently and it was something she was secretly enjoying despite her engagement. She didn’t even look up before greeting the person it was sure to be. What she didn’t expect however was what happened next. The needle was pulled from her hand and set onto the chest of the woman. She looked up at Sherlock to protest but he instantly grabbed her head and crashed his lips to her.

She froze, unsure what exactly was going on. Her eyes slowly closed and she hastily tore off the gloves before finding her hands resting on his chest. He pushed her backwards into the cold chambers, his body pressing against hers.

As quickly as it had happened, it was over. He pulled back but didn’t let her go. His forehead rest against hers, his eyes closed tightly. He swallowed hard before opening his eyes. Molly looked up at him, his blue-green-gold gaze as enchanting as it was when she first noticed it all those years ago when they had been grudgingly partnered up in chemistry lab.

“I remember…I remember you, Molly Anne Hooper. I remember everything.”


End file.
